The ox and the field are one
Seemless grazing
a gentle breeze
Hot yellow sun scorching
the colors out..
then Nothing remains.
05/17/06
But the memory lingers on, Of the past, where once the sun shone. s
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
like a hypnotic video...played over and over...love to re-read this, Barbara. fine work. -Tailor